Prik Tao Rai Na Ka?

How much spice, how many chillies?
Where's the spice in my life?
I need the spice back in my life.

"ฉันคิดถึงคุณ"

Chan kid tung kun

At the beginning it was all uncertain as we were getting to know each other: I was mesmerised by you, you were curious about me.
You were completely new to me, I had never experienced colours, smells and flavours like yours. It was mind-blowing.

Then, as the excessive heat and humidity, the pollution, the noise, the stray dogs, the lack of hygiene, the difficulties with the language and the culture shock started to get to me it turned into a love-hate relationship.
Those were difficult times. I was over-worked, tired, stressed out. I felt so lonely among your people that I wanted to run away, I hated you.

Nevertheless, with time I learned how to love you, respect and understand your people and customs. But it was too late as it was time to go back.

Now I miss you and your flavours; people and colours are nothing but a memory. Every day, every minute, I think about being with you again.

Maybe one day.

Would You Just Shut Up!?

NOISE: any loud, discordant or disagreeable sound

Webster's Dictionary

What a pain in the ear!

If there's something that gets to me it's noise. Unnecessary noise I mean, as opposed to everyday noises that one cannot avoid such as washing machines, vacuums, aircraft, sirens, etc.

Not all that is noise is loud, not all that is loud is noise. Noise is any sound that bothers us -or me in this case.

That said, I ended up living in Spain -the second noisiest country in the world according to www.ruidos. org, a Spanish organisation against noise.

It's true, there's so much noise here and all this noise hurts my sensitive ears and stresses me out.

There's the girls downstairs; I can hear everything they say and their stupid, moron-like laugh all day and night long. There's the couple opposite whose kid shouts and screams non-stop; the woman upstairs who wears high-heels in the house - I can hear the toc, toc, toc of her shoes all over the place at 6am. And there's everybody else in this bloody building who cannot close a door without slamming it!

On top of that there's the bin men and the street washers at half past one in the morning -you wouldn't believe how much noise they make!
There's also the shop downstairs dragging god-knows-what across the pavement at 7am as they clean their shop and wake all their neighbours up.

There's the boy racers with their stupid noisy cars and loud music, the drunks who stagger home at about 5am shouting and singing in the streets.
And it all seems to happen right under my bedroom window.

Also, I must not forget to mention the Spanish, or rather Latino, way of communicating: sounding their horns. They cannot leave the damn things alone, and use the horns for everything and for an absurd length of time. It drives me absolutely mad.

It doesn't help, of course, that the buildings have paper thin walls and that in this country there isn't a law which stops people from opening shops, bars, cafes, discos, etc in residential areas.
In fact, there aren't any residential areas at all, it's just a mess of jumbled up, ugly buildings.

There was an article in a local paper called QUE! (WHAT!) yesterday that reads 'One in three Spaniards gets stressed out by their neighbours' noise." The noise that disturbs 42% of them is their neighbours' shouting -see graphs above and right.

Many have had to sell their flats or move somewhere else because they could no longer put up with the noise; I find this absurd. Click here to read the article in Spanish

They get annoyed with it but (surprise surprise!) they do nothing about it. Is it a Spanish trait to simply put up with things and pretend they do not exist instead of complaining and trying to sort things out?

I don't want to contribute to the noise by shouting CALLATE CONO! out of my window, or by putting loud music on to shut out other noises. I don't want to move house to find a decent, quiet place with civilised neighbours to live in - I like my flat.

So, what should I do?
I have tried talking to them courteously but it hasn't worked. They become scornful, sometimes even aggressive.

Even now as I write this just before I go to work, I can hear the girls downstairs making so much din it makes me sick, and I know that at work it will be impossible to teach at about 5.30pm because one of the neighbours always puts his stupid heavy metal music on so loud that I cannot concentrate, and my students can hardly hear what I say.

Oh, so much stress.

If you love me, set me free
Let me go
if you love me.

Never Look Back

Orpheus could charm the wild beasts, coax the trees into dance, and even arrest the course of rivers and soften the rocks with the notes he played on his lyre.

His music couldn't, however, save his love Eurydice from her terrible fate. Bitten by a snake on the day of their wedding, she died.

Orpheus sang his grief to all who breathed the upper air, both gods and men, and finding all unavailing, resolved to seek his wife in the regions of the dead.

Demons and ghosts shed tears when he pleaded to be granted his wish of having Eurydice back in his life. "Love had led me here, Love, a god all powerful with us who dwell on the earth, and, if old traditions say true, not less so here. I implore you by these abodes full of terror, these realms of silence and uncreated things, unite again the thread of Eurydice's life", he sang.

Eurydice was called and came, limping with her wounded foot. Orpheus was permitted to take her on one condition; that he should not turn round to look at her till they should have reached the upper air.

He lead his wife through passages dark and steep in total silence. In a moment of forgetfulness and desperation, he looked back. She was instantly borne away.

Stretching out their arms to embrace one another, they grasped nothing but thin air. Dying now a second time she yet cannot reproach her husband, for how can she blame his impatience to behold her! "Farewell," she said, "a last farewell," and was hurried away so fast that the sound hardly reached his ears.

Music for the Soul

For the comfort of troubled, lost, restless and heavy souls:
J.S. Bach.

Abortion: Kill or cure?

Mexico City has taken a step forward by allowing women to legally abort during the first 12 weeks of pregnancy.

In a country where there are about 200,000 illegal abortions a year which kill at least 1,500 women, it is about time something was done.

However, not everybody sees this as a vote for common sense. This is indeed bad news for the Catholic Church, as Mexico is the world's second-largest Roman Catholic country.

Women should be given a choice, instead of having their lives controlled by religion.

I really hope that other Latin American countries follow suit.

Mangia Che Ti Fa Bene!

Do you eat to live or live to eat?

Imagine that money and time were not issues, and that nobody would laugh at or criticise you for getting a bit plump.


photo by Thomas Schauer, Culinary photographer

Now imagine that you can combine both, and that 651 people have been going through the trouble, year after year, of compiling a list of the world's 50 best restaurants.

So what are you waiting for? Fill your boots -or rather your tummy!

Just to get you started, here's the 2007 top ten. Buon appetito!

1. El Bulli, Roses, Catalonia, Spain (Best in Europe)
2. The Fat Duck, Bray-on-Thames, UK (Chef's Choice)
3. Pierre Gagnaire, Paris, France
4. The French Laundry, California, USA (Best in the Americas)
5. Tetsuya's, Sydney, Australia (Best in Australasia)
6. Bras, Laguiole, France
7. Mugaritz, San Sebastian, Spain
8. Restaurant Le Louis XV, Monaco
9. Per Se, New York, USA
10. Arzak, San Sebastian, Spain

Growing Numb

Dad was my hero. He had always been.

I remember the first time Dad took me for a driving lesson in his old Chevy. We went somewhere in town that was quite deserted, so there would be no danger of me crashing into something or somebody.
"We will be safe here", he said.

The roads hadn't even been paved yet, and we were surrounded by enormous bamboo plants which looked quite daunting. The floor was uneven and as it hadn't rained for days; very dusty.

I wasn't excited, though. I was terrified,mortified, petrified.
Not of driving, don't get me wrong. It was Dad and his temper that always scared the shit out of me.

Only I know how much I had wanted to please him, only I know the pain that came from not being able to do so and from not being able to come up to his expectations; it was much worse than the beatings. I so desperately wanted to be loved, admired and praised by Him. I was being given another chance.

It wasn't just the two of us in the car. He had made sure that Mum, my brothers and sister came too, and I knew why.

I was only 16, but I knew that they were there for a reason: Dad wanted them to witness his power over me; he wanted them to witness my being talked down to, my shame and my failure. He wanted them to share his disgust for me. He had always been so good at finding ways of doing this; oh the mental abuse hurt more than his heavy hands.

My first attempt at turning the engine on, putting first gear and releasing the clutch was a complete disaster. I was so nervous and anxious that I released the clutch far too quickly, and as a result the engine died, the car moved forward in a sudden and unpleasant way that made us all look and feel like rag dolls as our heads lurked back and forth.

I could feel His anger, I could feel it coming my way. I swallowed dry, sweat cold and waited.

it didn't take long. I tried to shut it out and failed as always, his shouting was like thunder, and he was telling me how useless and embarrassing a daughter I was. The angry words came followed by a slap that hit me so hard that I knew I'd bruise. My face was burning, my heart was aching.

I couldn't do anything right. As always, I was wasting his time and everybody else's. I felt like I wanted to be buried alive.

Nevertheless, I swallowed my pride and my tears and gave it a second go. After all, I was my father's daughter, and I was supposed to be strong, tough, fearless.

I cast him a glance hoping for comfort, pride, love and patience but saw nothing but anger and disgust. HE was my DAD, and I was supposed to be his babyluv. I thought I was, I desperately wanted to think so.

He looked at me and saw nothing. I looked at him and saw it all. I thought and felt that I wanted and could make him proud. "Please, Dad, let me, try me, allow me."

I tried again. This time more slowly, for everybody's relief, and managed to get the car going in first gear.

By the time I had half-learned how to change from first to second gear at the right time, my face was red, I was covered with sweat and my head was throbbing. I could no longer hold my tears. I could no longer carry on.

No more driving lessons, please, Dad. Not today, not tomorrow. Just let me be, please. I can't drive, I can't do it, I surrender, you win, I admit defeat.

I knew that would please him. He loved it when I admitted defeat. He loved it when he proved me wrong, he loved the feeling of control and power over me, over anybody. He cherished it. And of course he taught Mum and my brothers and sister to cherish it too.

I had to survive, I had to learn how to make myself numb to him.

Knut, the Polar Bear Cub

Oh, I love animals. Especially cuddly, fluffy, harmless baby animals. One cannot help but love them and want to protect them. Why would somebody want to kill such a gorgeous gift from mother nature?

I cannot comprehend it. Knut has received a death threat from the same people who call themselves animal rights activists.

I remember how shocked I was when I saw images on TV of those very people throwing stones at horses in order to prevent a fox hunt. The horses were bleeding, the dogs were distressed. I couldn't make much sense of it. Could you? Can you? Animal rights activists? How can they call themselves such when to make their point they hurt other animals?

And what about all that sick business of digging up the body of the Darley Oak Farm owner's grandmother and using it to blackmail the family?
Am I getting it wrong or have they completely lost the plot? What are they seeking? Who or what are they protecting?

Help me, I'm confused. I love animals and I stand by them and will always love them and protect them in my own way. I would never join a bunch of sickos like those.

Odi et Amo

"odi et amo quare id faciam fortasse requiris nescio sed fieri sentio et excrucio"

"I hate and I love. Why do I do this, you perhaps ask.
I do not know, but I feel it happening and I am tormented." Catallus 85

Edvard Munch, Madonna

Ab Imo Pectore

"It's better to be alone than to wish you were."
Where did I read this; or was it just advice from a good friend? I can't remember.
Easier said than done.

left: Edvard Munch

Marks & Spencer's vs El Arbol

As most women, I love shopping. And how amazed I was the first few times I shopped in England ! The service, the quality, the efficiency, the courtesy. I loved it; I thought I wanted to live in England forever.

Nevertheless, I am in Spain now. Oh, sol, sangria and jamon.

above: Cambridge market square, a shoppers' paradise

Marks & Spencer's used to be -and still is- one of my favourite shops for many reasons, this being one of them: I went to the -efficient- cashier to pay, shopping in basket. Can't recall exactly what I bought; a bottle of champagne, some strawberries, bread, eggs, meat, etc. I paid for it and after putting it all in the carrier bag, I walked out of the shop and the handle broke. Oh, dear. Broken bottle, champagne everywhere, broken eggs, a mess. I was devastated, felt like crying and cursing (well, I did say a few bad words). I just stood there a few seconds looking at my stuff all over the floor and thinking of what to do when a lovely lady walked past (that's another thing I love about England; courtesy) and told me that I should take it back to the shop, that they would replace it all for me. "Really?" I said, and decided to give it a go.

Off I went, feeling sheepish -I wasn't used to things like that, being from Brazil- and showed the cashier the broken bag and the damaged stuff.

To my amazement, she was incredibly polite, apologetic and helpful -actually, why shouldn't she?. Within minutes everything got replaced, and on top of that I was given a bottle of wine 'for my troubles'. I didn't know what to say. I mean, 'thank you' of course, but I was flabbergasted. WOW!

Then here I am in Spain; doing my weekly shopping at the local supermarkets; nothing pleasurable about it, just another annoying chore.

I'm so sick of bad, slow and moody service, people smoking inside, the fact that you cannot go in carrying bags (I like using recycled bags to shop you see) and if you do you need to show them to the cashier to prove that you have not stolen anything, lack of hygiene, rotten fruit and vegetables, the lack of variety (how difficult can it be to find parmesan and feta cheese????). And, on top of that, I have to meticulously check the receipt every single time, as it's bound to have mistakes.

El Arbol is where I normally shop, and today, again, I had to check the receipt. Sure enough, there were a few mistakes to do with discounts and promotions that didn't show. Politely and humbly, I told the cashier that there was a mistake. Instead of apologising and showing some interest in solving my problem, she frowned at me -after a few years in Spain I've realised that frowning at people is a normal way of communication, as it does not involve much thought process. Anyway, she asked me what the difference was, and I happened to remember the prices, so we calculated it and it came to 60 centimos. Not much of a difference, I know, but if you multiply this by the number of people who shop and do not check their tickets, well, they're making a lot of money and consumers are obviously being ripped off. I can't stand being ripped off.

I didn't get an apology; just a smirk and a sarcastic comment so that all those in the queue could have a laugh at my expense. I told her that this had happened before, that perhaps there was a problem with the machine/system/computer. She sighed. I was wasting her precious time and she wanted to let me know. She said, dismissively "No te preocupes. Tranquila, todo se arregla."

pictures from El Arbol and M&S websites